Vertigo
by NacaMichio
Summary: "When Sherlock is almost killed by a group of serial rapists, he finds comfort in a close friend and maybe more. Slash! Do not read if not to your liking. Harsh themes. Rated for a reason!"
1. Black Van

**This is a slash story. A friend and I are writing it together. We write it then I sort of ompile it. I hope you enjoy.**

**May contain harsh themes and well... rape scenes.**

John tried to keep up with Sherlock but the younger man was so much faster and high on adrenaline. John still ran even though he had no idea where to go. He heard Sherlock cry out and turned to his left just in time to watch someone shove Sherlock into a black van and drive off.

_Get the lisence plate._

He thought to himself. That would be smart if there was one.

_Run after them._

Even as he thought that he could feel his legs cramping up.

_Do something._

He wished dearly that he could.

000000000000000000000000

Sherlock struggled against the men behind him, somehow keeping his calm demeanor in the process. One man kept trying to stick a gag in his mouth and he kept twisting his head away.

"You are not putting that in my mouth." he stated.

"Yes we are." Suddenly it was shoved into his mouth roughly and tied behind his head. He almost gagged and felt the blood running down his chin. He struggle some more and his hands were tied behind him.

00000000000000000000000000

"I didn't see anything." John said," They threw him in the back of the va and off they went." He sighed.

"Alright. you can go." Lestrade said quietly. John stood and started to walk to the road. He hailed a cab and was home before he even knew it. The home felt empty. John had been here alone before but never like this. He had been here without Sherlock before but not tlike this. The whole home felt like it was missing something and depressed because of it.

He unloaded his gun and put it on the drawer next to his bed and layed down on top of the sheets compleatly dressed. This wouldn't be a problem if only...

Sherlock was smart and would get out if this was any other case but they had to be looking for a group of men that sexually assulted men in thier thirties with black hair. Assulted and murdered. John didn't want to think it but everything about him screamed he would never see the younger man again.

**Hope you enjoyed. This is new for me so please don't be too harsh in later chapters.**


	2. Text Message

**This is slash! Just warning. Harsh contents ahead. So chapter two everyone. Its a little on the dark side but yeah so here we go. **

**I do not own Sherlock. BBC does.**

It was rare for Sherloock to meet a man taller than him but even as the man leared over him he felt little fear. He just observed. The man thought he was in a position of power when in all reality he was just standing there, not intimidating Sherlock in the least.

"What do you want, exactly?" He asked the man. They were standing in an alley that was dimly lit on one end with cars rushing by on the other.

"Run. We want you to run." He stated. Sherlock glance around in a matter of seconds he summed up the one easy opening and relised thats what they wanted him to take. He bolted the other direction and shoved past the shocked men and ran. What he had relised earlier and had chosen to forget was that he no longer had shoes on. The adrenaline helped him to forget the pain in his feet. he just had to run. Most people wouldn't keep track of how long they ran but his mind easily suplied the countdown.

_Thirty minutes. Forty minutes. An hour and fifteen minutes. An hour and a half._ His body finally started to feel the effects. Sweat beaded his head and ran down his chest, soaking his white shirt. He felt the sticky blood with each step but he didn't stop. He ran until he could no longer breath.

He was within shouting distance of 221B and almost did shout when someone grabbed him and pulled him into the shadows. He faught his assailent but the large hand over his mouth and nose made it hard to do anything. His vision blurred as he tried to fight but his breath never came as he blacked out and knew it was over.

John glanced out the window. As he had done all night. As he had done for three nights in a row. As he had done hopeing to see the one person that meant anything to him. As he had done since Sherlock had gone missing.

yet again he was met with nothing. Just nothing. The room was silent. He would perfer the loud obnoxious violin at three in the morning or Sherlock shooting the wall out of boredom or anything but this nothing. He glanced out again and took a second look. His eyes widened when he saw Sherlock in a white shirt and black tie across the road. Why didn't he have shoes?

_Go to him._ John's head supplied. He turned and bolted down the stairs and out onto the road. He ran to the spot and stood there panting then started to do what he thought Sherlock would do. He looked around for clues. There was blood on the ground in different places in small amounts but in the shape of the right foot toes of a large man and the left foot heal. He was almost sure they were Sherlock's but again he had been too late.

Sherlock woke up on the ground. his head spun and he could feel the bruising on his lips and cheeks. This was no game of wits. For some reason there was nothing. They had no motive and no pattern and really no reason to be doing this. Who would risk him running for so long?

He sat up then slowly stood up. He felt the wind against his bare chest. His shirt was unbuttoned and untucked and his tie hung loose around his neck.

"Where are you!" He yelled, his deep voice echoeing off of distant walls. He was in a large room with round tunnel like features.

"Here." Said a voice behind him. He spun around and felt a great pain in his back. He wished there was some light of any kind in the room. He knew he had been stabbed but not very deep. He inhaled and slowly let it out. He had been hit by worse. He set his jaw as the blade was taken out. A boxcutter. He wasn't sure until he was hit again and this time he gasped in pain making the attacker chuckle.

"Don't like that do we?" Another man said from in front of him. So there were at least three men in the room. He felt the blood causing his shirt to stick to his back. Suddenly there was someone standing unbearably close to him, backing him into the other man. He stumbed into the man who wrapped his arms from behind around his waist. He tried to push the arms down off his waist but his hands were grabbed and held out in front of him.

"What are you doing?" He asked, his voice more strained and higher pitched than before as it echoed back to him.

"Chaining you up." he was lifted by the waist and his arms were raised above his head and shackled. The man let go of his waist. the weight of his body snapped down causing his wrists and shoulders to snap uncomfortably. He swollowed as he assesed whether his left arm had dislocated.

"At least you won't have to see our faces." That was yet another man. They weren't moving very much so he deduced that they didn't have noghtvision goggles on. They were working in the dark but with such coordation. They had done this six times before him and now they were perfect.

"So, Smarty pants, what do you think?"

"What do I think? You are very organised and thurough. Probably just sex and thrill junkies and nothing more." Suddenly he was stabbed again in the back. It wasn't very much, he would lose little blood but it still hurt mor ethan he would ever admit.

"Oh, we are more than that."

John sat bolt upright and yelled. He wiped his face forcefully and shook his head. Why had the dreams of war come back now odf all times. The phone next to him went off anf he grabbed it a little too enthusiatically and tossed it. He picked it up and sighed when it was not a text from Sherlock. Why had he thought it would be? That is all had been a bad dream?

Are you alright? My brother going  
>missing has us all frazzled but you<br>are rather normal so you may be  
>more concerned. Text me anytime.<br>Mycroft Holmes

Why was Microft texting him this late? He looked at his clock. and gasped. He had stayed asleep until two in the afternoon. He had been out all night following the bloody footprints but they stopped dead on the other side of town about two hours from 221B.

Thank you for your concern, Mycroft.  
>John W.<p>

He wanted it so badly to be Sherlock on the other end of that text. Suddenly his phone buzzed again. to quick to be Mycroft. He looked at it and his heart dropped. It was sherlock's number. He opened the text.

Bet you miss me. I miss you as  
>I scream your name in<br>My new friends say hi and hope  
>you are doing alright. Lots of love,<br>Sherlock Holmes.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He had to think this through. He knew they were just trying to taunt him. They just wanted to wave Sherlock in front of him. He had to get them to talk. Anything would help.

I do miss you, Sherlock. I hope you  
>Are alright. I hope to meet your<br>friends sometime. BTW when did  
>you change your signature?<br>John W.

He waited as Mycrofts text came in saying somethin about meeting up sometime for tea. Then it rang again.

Wouldn't be so calm in person.  
>Sherlock<p>

He smiled. He knew he probably wouldn't but really, they didn't.

You wouldn't still be alive in  
>person.<br>John W.

He waited a little longer as it came again.

We shall see.

John cursed and threw the phone against the wall. Mrs. Hudson knocked timidly on the door," Dr. Watson, are you alright?"

"Yes. Knocked over a glass of water."

Sherlock breathed in and out to keep himself calm. It had been a while since any of them had moved near him or even moved at all. Based on the breathing two had left the room leaving two in the room with him. Suddenly one grabbed him from behind and put a hand on his forhead as if cradling it against his chest.

"It will all be over soon." He whispered as another pair of freezing hands painfully touched his exposed abdomin. He breathed in and smiled.

"Cold hands? That the worst you can do?" he said. The cold hands wondered up his body, brushing his nipples and cradling his face. The hands owner put his lips to Sherlocks ear.

"This is by far not the worst." Then he bit Shrlock ear. Sherlock held back his whimper by biting his lip. He felt the blood gush down his neck as the man behind him licked it off," And by far not the best."

**Hope you enjoy. Reviews are welcome as well as suggestions.**


	3. 221B

**Little more story developement. **

**I do not own Sherlock.**

John sat and stared at the images he had hung above the mantle. They were rather grusome but he had to look. The similarity to Sherlock and that was all he could see. He hit himself in the face trying to concentrate and suddenly it clicked. It wasn't thier looks that fit them together. At least it wasn't the main link. He picked up his phone. He needed a second opinion.

Need you to come.  
>Found something.<br>John W.

He looked at the images again then at the little slips of paper next to them. He had to be right.

Coming right away. Have  
>work to finish. Thank you.<br>Mycroft Holmes

He started to look around the images and he smiled. The pieces seemed to fall into place.

* * *

><p>Sherlock knew he was alone. They had left and he was alone. He knew he was in a round room. There was no light at all. He hadn't even seen a door open. He closed his eyes, as if it made any difference. The area was damp but didn't smell old. He was in a metal warehouse of some sort. He felt a rock at his foot anf picked it up with his toe. He started to swing and threw the rock where he thought the sound of his voice had fallen flat. Sure enough the rock hit something that was not the side of the building. Wooden crate of some sort.<p>

He let out a small chirp and listened. He nodded then did it the other direction. The room was smaller than his initial thought. Part of it was carpeted and the part he was over was tiled. Not tiled. Cement so they could cover the blood. Someone owned this and knew how to cover it if the cops came looking. Sherlock flexed his hands and realised he was in handcuffs and that was why he felt like his hands were going numb. With his feet barely touching he probably wouldn't be able to run. He also had no clue where the exit was.

John nodded ot each picture then turned to Mycroft," I started to think the way that I thought Sherlock would. He said thier was a pattern. If he ever finished his thoughts then I would know more. It took a while but look at the youngest is first making Sherlock the oldest so far."

"There is no pattern other than he happens to be the oldest."

"Look. the birthdays are not in that kind of order. This person seems to have a sort of OCD. Look. The ages are by murder 1:21, 2;26 , 3:24 , 4:30 , 5:28 and now Sherlock who is 32. If w switch all the odds and evens starting at two but onlty switch them once the ages are from youngest to oldest. he skips two and goes back one skips two back one. See."

"That is a long shot." Mycroft said, but nodded nontheless. He was probably seeing so much more than John but he wasn't Sherlock and was out of practice with this.

"But that was all Sherlock ever needed. He put them in order for us. I just had to look. Brilliant. He's not here and still solving the case. So I also looked up thier adresses. See this. He made a circle. All the dots of the murders and thier adresses. They make almost a perfect circle and the bodies make a sort of inner circle."

"And the bodies are shifted over about a block. That means Sherlock will be in this area when they..." Mycroft stopped in his tracks.

"We will find them before then. We will." John said, more to assure himself than Mycroft.

* * *

><p>Sherlock rubbed his head and felt the paperclip he kept hidden in his curls. No one would be able to find it unless they were washing his head, scrubbing it, or knew it was there. He had an idea of how to get out but he wasn't sure where out was. He shook his head. The only way out of this so far was if John figured it out because Sherlock wasn't thinking right. He had never been in shock before but he assumed this would be what it felt like. he heard the echo of a door open and shuddered.<p>

**Thank you to Redbelladonna and April for your reviews. Hope this helps and sorry about spelling. No spell check. I'll have someone fix it later when I get somone who can.**


	4. Boxcutter

**I do not own Sherlock Holmes.**

Sherlock's breathing came in heavy gaspes and shuddering breaths as the man ran his lips along Sherlock's collar bone. Being a virgin he had never experienced this before. It frightened him more than anything. Love had been the second thing farthest from his mind while lust was the farthest. He trembled as the cool lips traveled down his body. A hand came from behind and inserted itself into his waistband. He felt his breath catch and couldn't think straight.

Then there was the boxcutter again on the other side. It ran neatly up hi side without making a mark then to his back and down his spine. He tried to ignore it until it was run across his throat. He heard the man behind him let out an amused sigh as he dug into the flesh above Sherlock's right collar bone. He bit his lip again, sure that he would not give these men any pleasure and waited for his body to calm down. The hand in his waistline moved across then out of his pants, only to unbutton and unzip them.

Sherlock swallowed and started to tremble. He looked up and tried to think of anything else but the hand traveling further into his clothing. The man in front of him had moved away. He could feel the man behind him hardening, for he was so close. Sherlock whimpered as he was touched, just barely.

"You want it." The man whispered. Sherlock shook his head and closed his eyes in denial. The man grabbed his hair and made him look up as he took hold of Sherlock forcefully.

Sherlock let out a loud," Ugh!" And his eyes flew open. He wiggled to try to get away but the man held him firm. It wasn't going to be that easy.

"You should not have meddled." HE whispered. Sherlock let out a shuddering breath as the man loosened his grip.

John nodded. Based loosely on the pickup and drop locations and the patterns Sherlock drew on the map he had loosly pinpointed the area Sherlock should be in. He dialed and waited, tapping his foot inpatiently.

"Come on. Pickup." He got the answering machine and sighed angrily," I found Sherlock. Meet me. I'll text the address. Bring backup." He hung up and grabbed his coat.

Sherlock started to kick furiously as his pants were wripped down to his was grabbed around the waist by two strong hands and held still. He whimpered and pulled at his wrists until he felt blood running down his arms. He felt the man lick some of the blood an dlet out a noise of disgust causing the man to hold his hips tighter. another man tore his underwear down to his knees.

He started shaking his head back and forth whispered," No, no, no." He felt the man line up and started to sob quietly. The man forced himself in with a loud grunt then started to rock his hips back and forth.

Sherlock shouted and shouted until he was hoarse, tears streaming down his face. Sweat burned his eyes and soaked his bloodstained shirt. After what seemed like forever his clothes were restore and he was left hanging alone in the dark. As the man left he laughed.

"It will all be over soon." Sherlock nodded and started to painfully work the paperclip out of his matted hair.

John ran down the alley and started kicking in doors to all the wearhouses. He had never been to this part of town before. The internet said it had been an empty lot that wasn't concidered part of London because of it's distance from the center.

Sherlock finnaly got both his hands loose and fell in a heap to the floor. He lay with his face pressed to the cool floor, breathing hard. He could barely move but he knew he had to get himself motivated.

He felt in his back pocket and pulled out some of his nicotine patches and sighed. They wouldn't give him much energy but it should be enough. He heard some shuffling and he scooted behind the wooden thing he felt earlier. He started pealing the packages and applying the patched to his right arm.

The men came to the empty handcuffs and a light was turned on. He blinked a few times then bolted forward and grabbed the gun out of one man's waistband and stepped back so that he could see the three others as well.

"Boy, We know you don't use those things. Not only that, there is only one bullet." It was the biggest man again.

"I only need one." he lowered the gun and shot the man in the crotch then he ran foward and hit the second man with the gun. Somehow an arm ended up around him and wrestled the gun from his grasp but he ducked, got the boxcutter from the man's pants and stood, slashing the man's throat with one slice.

He flinched as the blood sprayed his bare chest and face. He was stunned for a moment then adrenaline and the nicotine kicked in full last man tried to run, a look of pure fear on his face, and Sherlock grabbed him from behind and sliced his throat. The man fell limp at his feet and Sherlock stepped back in shock. Now he was covered in the blood of two men. He stepped away , swayed on his feet ,and blacked out.

John saw Lestrade running up and sighed," I've checked only half of them." He said.

"We have men here to help search. Not much because this is just a hunch and I don't have much pull these days. If he's here, We'll find him."

"Well, I'm going to keep up." John nodded and didn't even wait for a reply.

They searched for an hour and a half. John was near exhaustion. Lestrade walked up and sighed.

"This and one other are all that's left. Down that alley. Let's go."

**Please be kind. This is a first for me. I'll admit, not the best.**

**Thanks to Phantomred for your review. :)**


	5. Medication

**Okay so lets see if this is easier to read. I had a little help this time. This chapter was written by me and Probably the next few will be. my friend dropped it and probably won't help anymore so you get me! Hope it's good.**

**I do not own Sherlock.**

John saw the bodies and stumbled back. One had died from massive bleeding from a gunshot wound and the other two from slit throats. He sighed when he finally noticed none of them were Sherlock. He started looking frantically around. He spotted a trail of blood that led behind one of the many piled wooden crates. He followed it and saw Sherlock. He was curled in a small ball behind the crate, covered in blood.

John knelt down and touched Sherlock's face lightly. Sherlock startled and shook his head. "John?"

"Yes. Sherlock, you have to tell me, where are you hurt?" John asked slowly.

"My back and..." Sherlock's eyes went wide as he shuddered.

"What's wrong?" John searched Sherlock's body with his eyes,"Dear Lord, Sherlock! Is that seven patches?"

"Seven patch problem." he mumbled.

"Lestrade! Ambulance. Now!" John yelled. He looked back down at the man in his arms, slowly fading.

"John, two got away." Sherlock said, his eyes starting to flutter.

"We'll get them. Just rest." He tried to keep calm as he felt Sherlock loosen his grip. His body seemed to grow lighter as his consciousness left him. Sherlock's breath came in short gasps as John watched," Now, Sherlock." He started. He shook Sherlock's now limp form," Sherlock? SHERLOCK!"

* * *

><p>John sat in the waiting room and tapped his knees. It had been hours since they took Sherlock back. He stood and paced, sitting back down then standing against the wall. He paced a little more until he finally dosed at about two in the morning. Finally he was shaken awake by Sarah.<p>

"How long have you been here?"John Mumbled Groggily.

"A while." Sarah said, looking at her hands," They're asking for you."

"Why?" John rubbed his eyes.

"Mycroft is out of the country, so you're the next on his friends and family list." She smiled sadly.

"He has one of those?"

"Yes. Go on." She helped him stand and pushed him in a random direction. He saw a doctor smile and he walked over to him.

"Dr. John Watson?" The doctor said.

"Yes?" He asked, licking his dry lips in anticipation.

"Well, his body didn't react well to the seven nicotine patches. His heart was beating far too fast. The wounds on his back weren't deep enough to do any major damage, but they'll probably hinder him in the future. Other than that, he should make a full recovery in a month or so."

"Good. That's good. Is he going to be allowed out soon? He gets bored easily." John smiled at the inside joke.

"By tomorrow, though it's against our better judgment. He's awake if you want to go in." The doctor smiled and pointed out the room before continuing on his way. John went in to find the detective laying in the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling. The white sterile room made Sherlock look so frail.

"Sherlock?" John whispered. Sherlock didn't look at him, but he nodded. John sat next to his bed.

"What do they have on my arm?" Sherlock said, flexing the arm closest to John. He scratched at the tube they had attached at the crook of his elbow.

"Not sure. Probably morphine." John Shrugged.

"Probably. I don't want it." He stated.

"Sherlock, you'll get out of here tomorrow. You must deal with it for now."

"I don't want it." He grabbed it and John quickly stood up and put his hand over Sherlock's. He never realized how large Sherlock's hands actually were.

"Sherlock, deal with it. The quicker you get better the quicker we can leave." John looked into Sherlock's color changing eyes and Sherlock smiled.

"Fine." John let his hand linger for another moment then sat back in the chair.

"So. Are you alright?" He asked. Sherlock's eyes suddenly went a cold, steely blue and he turned to his side, facing away from John.

"Fine."

* * *

><p>Sherlock stepped into the living area of 221B and slumped onto the couch. He winced as pain arched through his back.<p>

"Ready for your pain meds?" John asked.

"No. Do we have a new case?" Sherlock asked.

"No. You're on leave."

"This job doesn't get leave!" Sherlock shouted.

"Who says? Your boss? You invented it!" John took two pills out of the bottle and got a glass of water. He promptly sat them on the table in front of Sherlock and sat in the chair across from him.

"I'm not taking them." Sherlock mumbled to the roof.

"Then you're not getting any new cases." John grinned and sat back in the chair. Sherlock glanced at him then sat up and threw the pills down his throat and drank the water in one gulp.

"Better?" He choked out.

"I love how childish you can be." John said, standing and leaving Sherlock to brood in silence. Sherlock sighed then shook his head. He grinned then laid back down, slowly drifting to sleep.

* * *

><p>John bolted awake. He wasn't dreaming so what woke him? Suddenly he heard screaming in the other room. He stood up and grabbed his gun.<p>

Sherlock, he thought. He burst through the door, down the stairs and kicked Sherlock's door in. He saw the shirtless younger man wrapped in his sheets and blanket, screaming and hitting himself as well as thrashing against the wall. Sherlock suddenly shoved himself off the bed and John leaped forward and caught him.

"Sherlock, wake up! Sherlock Holmes! Wake up!" Sherlock got one good punch in on John before he regained awareness. He blinked a few times then stared at John.

"John." He huffed," Are you alright?"

"Yes. Jus... meh noze... wha' 'bou' you?"

"I... fine." He started gasping as if he just remembered why he was screaming seconds earlier. He glanced around and started to hyperventilate and tremble. John took hold of one of Sherlock's wrists and Sherlock jumped but John pulled him closer and into a hug. Sherlock squirmed then completely broke down in the older man's arms.

Blood oozed from John's nose for a moment but he looked up and it soon ebbed away as he held the trembling man on the floor of his room. Sherlock slowly calmed down and started to drift off when John lifted him onto the bed.

"John. Could..." Sherlock started. John knew the younger man's pride was hurt by this and knew anything else might break him, so he didn't make Sherlock ask.

"I'll go get a blanket and pillow for the floor." He smiled. Sherlock cleared his throat uncomfortably and nodded as he lay back down.

**Thank you to waterbaby84 , drjamband , Mclennarrson-1964, OrangeZest100, annabelleaurelius , Blacksabby , WitchRavenFox , and Jenna for your reviews! Thanks for all the help.**

**Special thanks to GrayScreen. :)**


	6. Alley

**THIS IS THE REAL CHAPTER SIX! I AM SO SORRY FOR THE MIXUP! READ THIS THEN CHAPTER SEVEN!**

**I do not own Sherlock**

No one would guess what had happened to Sherlock Holmes only a week and a half before. He was stooped over a dead body, his eyes narrowed like he needed glasses. He steepled his hands in front on his lips and turned his head slightly to the right.

"John. Do you see these marks?" He pointed then put his hands on his knees to turn almost all the way over to look again.

"Yes. Cat scratch." John said.

"No, look." He pointed again. " This here is a paper cut. See? A certain stock that he uses only for important business. It stays at his job. There are repeated marks of the same quality on his hands and arms as if he picks the paper up the same way everyday. This one here is recent. He was in his office and moved here. Since the offices are cleaned thoroughly every night the smell of bleach wouldn't put anyone off."

"All that from a scratch?" John smiled, amused.

"So if you look at his appointment book there should be a Mr. James. He was the last man to see the victim alive other than our murderer. Ask him if he saw anyone, and I mean anyone, cleaning personnel, workers, random people, secretaries, going into that room. And..." Sherlock suddenly sucked in his breath, his eyes going wide. He shook his head then blinked a few times. John laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Sherlock?" John whispered. " Do you need your pain killers?"

Sherlock suddenly straightened up. " No. Good. Anyway, if you get anything text me." He turned, his coat fanning out behind him as he walked quickly away. John made eye contact with Lestrade who shrugged. "John, I won't wait for you."

"Coming." John ran and caught up in a few moments," Are you alright?"

Sherlock shook his head lightly, a motion that anyone else would have missed. John's brow furrowed.

"Not now. I'm fine." Sherlock mumbled. He pulled his collar close as rain started to drizzle around them.

"Why don't we get a cab?" John asked, raising his hand to hail one.

"I'd rather walk." Sherlock said, so the two men walked on in the slowly thickening rain.

0000000000000000000000000

Sherlock slumped on the couch and hissed. John sat in front of him and stared at him until he made eye contact.

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"You're going to bust the stitches if you keep it up." He said

"Well, that would be better than this limited mobility." Sherlock snapped.

"No it wouldn't. You would be more limited when you have to keep them for a month longer." John jumped when his phone went off in his back pocket. As if he didn't have stitches at all, Sherlock nimbly leap up and across the coffee table and swept around so that he was leaning on the back of John's chair to read the text.

_John. Bad patient.  
>Need you at the clinic.<em>  
><em>Sarah<em>

"Are you going, then?" Sherlock mumbled.

"Yes, I am. You will be alright while I'm gone?" John asked, heaving himself from the chair.

"Yes. Aren't I always?" Sherlock asked as he watched John get up and walk past him to the door.

"No. Look, just rest for God's sake, Sherlock, sleep a bit. Maybe for a good three or four hours?" He stopped at the door and turned around."And please don't hurt yourself."

"Fine!" Sherlock snapped, walking across the table again and falling onto the couch. With a sigh, John nodded and closed the door behind him.

0000000000000000000000000

A week seemed to pass without incident as Sherlock solved three more cases, a new record for the detective. He seemed to always be going, as if he was afraid to stop, but John Watson knew better than that. Sherlock didn't show fear like normal men. If he was afraid he would confront his fears, although the last few days Sherlock started acting funny.

As Sherlock walked around his eyes shifted as if he saw evil everywhere. That was his gift and his curse. He DID see evil everywhere. Everyone he passed had something to hide and he could see what.

_Adulterer. Thief. Drunk. Hates everything. Pimp. Tried to kill a family member. Bully. Sexual predator. Angry. Paranoid. Abuser._

As the faces flashed past him he could read everything about them. He tried to act normal but he had this feeling. He didn't want to see the faces anymore. He looked at John and smiled, trying to act normal.

_Worry. Fear. Angst. _

He shook his head and turned into an alley and froze in his tracks. He felt lightheaded and dizzy. He leaned on the wall and heaved a deep sigh.

"Sherlock?" John said from behind him.

"John..." He whispered. He couldn't catch his breath as his surroundings swirled around him, as if mocking him.

"What's wrong? Speak to me." John said frantically, leaning over, trying to see Sherlock's face.

"Have to... get out of here... I can't move." He huffed, becoming lightheaded. John took Sherlock's loose arm and draped it over his shoulder. Even though he was smaller, he was strong and was able to take most of the younger man's weight. He had helped Sherlock walk before but never like this.

"Come on. Just make it to the cab. Come on, Sher." Sherlock, under normal circumstances, would have laughed at the nickname but he was too busy hyperventilating. He calmed down a little during the cab ride but still had to be helped up the stairs. He got him into his room and onto the bed and knelt in front of him as he doubled over.

_Pain. Guilt. Anger. Frustration._

All the things Sherlock felt because he couldn't come to terms with the one thing, this one thing holding him back.

"Sherlock?" John whispered," What was that?"

"Would you stop saying my name all the time!" Sherlock suddenly shouted. John put a hand on Sherlock's knee and Sherlock pulled it away in shock.

"Sorry. Sorry." John mumbled. Sherlock shook his head then grabbed chunks of his hair.

"John. That was... that was the alley they... set me loose and I ran. I was just outside there and they took me back. I saw you and was about to scream when... Agh!" He gripped at chunks of his hair and would have gone back for more but John grabbed his wrists.

"It's ok." John said, holding the younger man gently. Sherlock looked like he was going to spill everything but he suddenly wretched free from him and laid down facing the wall. John lay on the floor, his head on the pillow he had been sleeping on. He sighed and listened until Sherlock was lightly snoring and fell into an uneasy sleep himself.


	7. Needle

**I HAVE MADE A MISTAKE! IF YOU HAVE ALREADY READ THIS CHAPTER PLEASE GO BACK AND READ CHAPTER SIX! i POSTED THIS IN CHAPTER SIX SECTION! THIS IS CHAPTER SEVEN! CHAPTER SIX IS NOW UP. PLEASE GO BACK!**

**If you haven't read this yet then have at it.**

**I do not own Sherlock**

John shook his head. Two weeks had passed since the abduction. Occassionally Sherlock would freeze up at a crime scene but a little nudge from John he would move on. Sherlock even would be sound asleep some nights long before he got home from the clinic. He only had nightmares when he slept deep. Sherlock normally got small naps during the day and thier pattern had gone back to normal.

John walked into the kitchen and dropped his drink when an earsplitting screech broke through the silent flat. He leaned down and picked up the broken glass as the screech turned into a melody of some song he didn't recognise on Sherlock's violin. He took another glass out and poured some milk.

"Sherlock, I have to go out." he said loud enough for Sherlock to hear.

"We out of milk?" He shouted from his room.

"Yes. I also have to go see Harry. She got another ticket. I'll be late. Text if you need anything."

"Tell Harry I said hello."

"You know she hates you." John said.

"Yes, I do." Sherlock started his playing again and John laughed as he left the flat. Sherlock seemed to be back to normal so he relaxed as he walked to his sisters.

* * *

><p>John opened the door and slammed it shut. Sherlock lay on the couch, clutching the inside of his elbow. The text had only said 'Come' and so John came. A syringe lay nearby on the table. Sherlock inhaled through his nose and hissed through his teeth. John grabbed the saringe.<p>

"John, John..."Sherlock pressed a cotton ball to the sore spot and taped it up then lay a hand on John's hand.

"What are you doing?" John asked, gesturing to him with the needle.

"John..." His eyes fluttered and he lay back down on the pillow," I... Please... It's the only way they stop talking..." Sherlock mumbled. the only way John could hear him was because he was so close. He snarled then realised what Sherlock had said.

The anger at Sherlock for doing the drugs ebbed away. Sherlock was hiding from something. Maybe in this drug induced state, Sherlock would tell what was bothering him. John sat down on the table near Sherlock's head, facing him. He took hold of the hand Sherlock had punctured and intertwined thier fingers.

"Sherlock, why did you do this?" He asked, unable to hide his fear.

"I couldn't listen to them anymore." Sherlock mumbled. He blinked a few times, his eyes went wide then he shut them and shuddered.

"Who are they?"John asked loudly, wrapping his other hand around Sherlock's and his own.

"You, Sir, are loud." Sherlock smiled then sucked in a breath.

"Sherlock!" John said a little harsher than he intended to. Sherlock flinched away, trying to pull his hand loose. John held it even tighter," Sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you. Can you tell me who they are? The ones you don't want to hear anymore."

"No. I didn't see them, you idiot." Sherlock suddenly burst from his seat and fell over on the floor . John was able to keep him from bashing his head by the hand he was still holding.

"Alright." John knelt down and picked him up, carrying him into his room.

"John. I'm scared." Sherlock said, barely a whisper. He closed his eyes and started to whimper.

"Sherlock, calm down." John covered him up and Sherlock put his hands over his eyes.

"Stop saying my name! All of you!" Sherlock screached.

"Calm down." John said calmly. Sherlock started making awful noises in his throat that sounded like a dying cat," Sher. Sherlock. Please calm down. I don't want to have to restrain you."

Sherlock sat up and his face suddenly contorted in anger, his eyes buldging," Don't touch me!" He shouted," Don't you bloody touch me!" He doubled over and pulled his knees up to his chest. He started whining and screaching and laughing hysterically.

"Oh, oh no." John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and Sherlock screamed and thrashed but even with his smaller frame, John's strength held Sherlock in a tight grip.

"Let me go!" Sherlock said through his gritted teeth. It came out in a deep growl in his chest," Let me go. John! Let! Go!" Sherlock suddenly gasped and started swatting above him,"Get away!"

"Shhhh." John said, running his hand through Sherlock's hair. Tears ran openly down his face as he held Sherlock tightly. He stayed there late into the next day, long after the effects wore off. When the sun had almost set the next evening he lay Sherlock's head on the pillow and covered him up, laying down on the pillow in the floor. He noticed Sherlock's hand reaching for him and he grabbed it. Sherlock didn't open his eyes but smiled. John smiled back even though he knew Sherlock couldn't see. Maybe that was why he smiled?

**Thank you tessa626 , drjamband , Redbelladonna , Zarra Rous , WitchRavenFox, OrangeZest100 , Straw-hat Monkey D. Luffy , and NinjaBearClaw for your reviews and to all others who Favorited this story as well as put it on alert or me. so much response to this story. So glad everyone likes it. :) you're all great!**


	8. Eight Nine Ten

**Sorry it took so long to update this. It's taking a while to update all of my stories. This one is thid on the update list but ended up being sixth. Sorry. Hope you still want to read it.**

John woke to a horrid whining sound. He looked up and saw that Sherlock was sprawled on his stomach with hisleg and arm hanging off the side of the bed, his hand still loosely clutching John's hand. Sherlock was whimpering in his had barely rested after John found him on the couch that was the best cure at this point.

"John... Water..." Sherlock mumbled, opening his eyes to small slits.

"Alright. i'll be back." John stood up.

"Don't leave." Sherlock pleaded.

"Sherlock, how do you expect me to get some water if I can't leave?" John scolded.

"I don't know. Magic?" He said, grumpily through his pillow which he had pressed his face into.

"I will be within shouting distance, Sher. I'll be right in the kitchen. I want you to shout your level of fear from the point I leave the door. Start at one and if you get terribly scared scream 10 and I'll come back. Alright?" John asked. Sherlock whined into his pillow.

"Ten!" He shouted, his voice muffled by the pillow.

"Sherlock!" John said, exasperated.

"Go!" Sherlock said. John made it to the door and heard a muffled," Two."

"Good. Keep doing that." John said, starting down the hall.

"Two..." Sherlock turned over in the bed," Three... three." His breathing became rushed.

"Good, good. I'm at the sink now." He pulled a cup down and frowned.

"Six...Six, definately six." He gasped.

"I am pouring it now." He turned on the faucet and filled the large cup. when the water stopped Sherlock raised his voice.

"Seven... Eight..." When John made it back to the room, Sherlock was curled under his bed in the fetal position," Nine..." He whimpered. John put a hand out and Sherlock took it, slowly letting himself be guided out of the dark area. John pulled him into a deep hug.

"Three." Sherlock mumbled into John's shoulder.

"Three?" John scoffed.

"Fine... Ten." Sherlock grinned and his fingers curled into fists, clutching the cloth at John's shoulder blades.

"You moron." John laughed and wrapped his fingers in Sherlock's hair. Sherlock ralaxed against him and his fingers uncurled and just rested on John's shoulders.

**Thank you to Zarra Rous , itsgotearflaps, WitchRavenFox, Mclennarrson-1964, strifylover13, and Jenni for your wonderful reviews. I tried to update but it took a while to get all my ideas together.**


	9. Shower

**Bonus udpdate because it took so long to update. It took so long to get the emotion and the ideas all together. It is perfect to me. I really hope the next chapter is faster.**

John opened the door and cursed. He had gone to work for a grand total of three hours and Sherlock had woken, surely with a horrid migrane,and had left his bedroom. John knew the other man didn't normally go very far but he had never seen him get high before, nor had he ever seen the after effectes. He had left Sherlock sleeping soundly in bed. It had taken a lot of quiet pursuasion to get Sherlock to let go of him.

He searched the apartment," Sherlock? Sherlock Holmes! Where are you? Come out! Sherlock!" He wandered the halls and stopped when he heard the sound of rushing water. He knocked on the door," Sherlock? Are you alright?"

"No." Sherlock answered in a dull, toneless voice.

"Are you hurt?" Jahn asked urgently.

"Have been for a month or so now.

He pushed the door to the bathroom open and peeked in. He gasped and cursed himself again.

Sherlock stood in the shower in a white long sleeve shirt and black pants. His hands were pressed to the wall shoulder width apart in front of him and the water poured over his head and off his long black hair and down his bleeding back. John cautiously walked up to his friend.

"Sherlock." He said quietly. Sherlock didn't startle, or acknowledge his presense at all,"Can you hear me?"

"Of course I can hear you." Sherlock's deep voice rumbled.

"What's going on? You have stitches." John touched Sherlock's shoulder but Sherlock shrugged him off.

"I'm taking a shower." Sherlock said in a mock cheery voice, grinning up at John then letting his head hang again.

"You know you aren't supposed to get you back this wet. It'll get worse." John said.

"My bloody back. Oh my back. I try to take a bath, which men normally don't do, and I find I can't sit down, I can't get my shirt off, I can't even wash my hair!" Sherlock punched the wall, gritting his teeth,"I was hopeing I'd drown but it hurt too much to lay down in the tub. Can't even wash my hair."

"Why are you still in your clothes?"John asked, moving closer still. He was starteing to think he was going to have to pull Sherlock out of the shower with brute force. He had seen stranger happen because of Sherlock.

"Because I couldn't... I can't reach up and take it off. I needed to bath so here we are." He sighed then shouted at the drain," I can't even wash my hair!" He kept returning to the fact.

Guilt washed over John. He should have noticed how much pain Sherlock was in. Suddenly his eyebrows furrowed. Sherlock shouldn't be in that much pain this far along. Granted there would be pain but he had gotten past this a while ago.

"Have you taken your pain medication today?"

"Yes!" Sherlock said," Regularly and as needed. It doesn't seem to help."

"Lean down as far as you can." John directed. Sherlock looked at him and his eyebrows furrowed. He turned his head and raised an eyebrow, keeping eye contact.

"What for?" Sherlock questioned.

"Because I am short, you bafoon! Lean down!" Jahn put a hand on the top of Sherlock's head and made him lean slightly over, his head out from under the water. John grabbed the shampoo,poured some in his hand, and sharted scrubbing Sherlock's curley mass of black hair,"Close your eyes." He shoved Sherlock's head under the water and started to rinse the soap out of the man's hair.

"What the hell was that?" Sherlock asked.

"I was shampooing your hair. And showing you I'm not ashamed of helping you or you needing help. That means with ANYTHING!" He helped Sherlock over the ledge of the shower and turned the hot water off. He started to notice how much the man was shaking and took his own jacket off," Take off your clothes and out my jacket on. I will get your clothes and come back. Sit down when you are done."

John left the room and returned as fast as he could with another white sleeved shirt and a pair of black pants and some underwear. Sherlock sat on the toilet trembling. He had his head in his hands. John helped him stand andpeeled the thin wet shirt off of him then helped him redress. Sherlock's pale skin was tinted red. He wasn't sure if it was fever or if Sherlock was embarassed. He sat the other man down on the bed facing the wall and sat a chair behind him.

" I your cold but I need you to take this shirt off." John whispered, running a hand gently down Sherlock's spine.

"No." Sherlock muttered, crossing his legs and intengling his fingers together, resting his chin on his netted fingers.

"What? I need to see why your fevered. It's probably infected." John said.

"i don't want to take the shirt off." Sherlock pouted.

"Fine." John grunted. He reached up and grabbed the shirt and roughly pulled it off Sherlock," Oh. They're all infected." John put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder that was swatted off but he kept looking at the wounds," i know it hurts all along but when did it escelate?"

"Yesterday I couldn't lift my arms at all without hurting it." sherlock said, barely audibly.

"But that case yesterday...Sherlock you could have killed yourself." John said,rolling up his sleeves to prepare for stitching him up. He started out the room and found his bag on the table just outside Sherlock's room. He had left it there in anticipation of such an event. He had stitched up Sherlock's hand about two days ago from a wound he got when he jumped over a rusty railing using just his hand.

John sanitized his hands and wiped Sherlock's back surrounding the wound with an alchohol rub. Sherlock shuddered at the doctor's now freezing hands. John noticed that after the shuddering stopped, Sherlock seemed to still be trembling. John had known him for quite a while and could tell that something was wrong.

"Sherlock. I'm sorry about what happened to you... No one deserves this." John remembered how he had found Sherlock just three days ago, shooting up to get the voices to go away. If only John knew what the voices were!

"What if I do?" Sherlock mumbled, jolting John back to reality.

"What? No, Sherlock, whatever you have done, it does not deserve this as payment." john said, slowly removing the stitches one by one. John ran his free hand down Sherlock's back gently, barely touching where he was stitched," No one deserves this."

"I killed those men..." Sherlock started.

"You had no choice." John said, shocked. Suddenly Sherlock stood up and spun around and John fell to the floor.

"I killed those men... And I liked it!" Sherlock said as he towered over the man on the floor. His face was partially shadowed creating an even more frightening image until tears poured down his face," I killed the men who raped and knifed me and I liked it! " Sherlock sobbed," All I could think is how I had wanted to try that all my life and they had given me a legal way to! " he sat down and put his face in his hands," And it scares me!" he shrieked.

John stood up weakly and sat next to the younger man, wrapping his arms around the pale, trembling form," That's a good thing! It's a good thing that it scares you! It should! To this day it scares me."

"Do I scare you?" Sherlock asked in a very high pitched voice.

"No. Never. You could never scare me, but killing someone, taking another life! anyone would be scared. Likeing it, is well, human nature. you were high on adrenaline and nicotine patches. "

"I'm a sociopath! This is the next step! What if I can't stop!" He whined.

"But the fact that you can stop yourself and think that is enough! I can tell you that it will come and you'll be able to stop yourself." John smiled and put a hand into Sherlock's hair.

"If you're there, maybe." Sherlock mumbled hoarsely.

"Sherlock, did they hurt you? Did the doctors check you out? I mean..."John asked nervously, massaging Sherlock's head lightly.

"Yeah they checked me out. I think."

"Did they know that they needed to check... because they...There's certain things that need to be checked because of what they did. Am I the only one who knows this happened to you?"

"Yes. I've told no one. I was... scared." Sherlock let the last word fall. John turned his body and pushed Sherlock's hands gently away from his face then put a hand on his cheek, turning Sherlock's head so they were facing one another.

"You don't have to be scared anymore. No one is going to hurt you. I'll keep you safe." He whispered, still holding Sherlock's face.

"But who's to stop me from hurting you?" Sherlock's face went red and he jerked it out of John's grasp to hide behind his dark curls. John grabbed his face forcefully and kissed Sherlock's forhead.

"I'm sure _you_ will." He said. Sherlock layed his head on John's chest and started to sob. If anyone asked he would openly deny this. He hoped that it wouldn't ruin the only real relationship in his life, but for now he didn't care. He just cried. Long and hard into the older man's chest, Loudly and into the late hours. At around three in the morning both men fell asleep, Sherlock laying on John's chest and John's arms wrapped protectivly around the shirtless Sherlock.

If asked the next day , both would deny it, but in the end this was all they needed.

**Thanks to all of my wonderous readers!**


	10. Normal

**Sorry so very late with this.**

Sherlock took a deep breath and looked down at the body. After the time stuck in 221B he was trying to readapt to life outside where he could hear and see the evil. He knew he had to ignore the evil or he would never be well again. John took his hand and put the other hand on Sherlock's elbow to give the appearance of helping him walk, not holding hands for comfort.

"Are you sure you're ready?" John whispered, not taking his eyes off the body as he and Sherlock looked down.

"You said yourself, this is the only way. Well, the hardest, longest lasting, and healthiest way." Sherlock smiled sarcastically, almost in his normal way. It was strained and forced, like someone tired of hiding something but continuing to do so anyway.

"Well, let's get to it then." John smiled and Sherlock started to read the corpse. He studied her for a good fifteen minutes, a little longer than normally needed.

"What have you got, Freak? We haven't got all day." Sally Donovan growled.

"Leave him be." John muttered.

"Alright, alright." Sally put her hands up in defense. Without preamble, Sherlock started telling his findings.

"She is a blonde, in her early twenties or even late teens, leaning to the latter. She has a boyfriend, not yet fiancé hasn't said yes to him. She's a psychology major and is in her second semester of her prerequisites. She fought and lost, obviously. Made to look like a suicide, and might have gotten away with it if the murderer hadn't lost control. Check into local colleges and see if anyone has been reported missing with that description." Sherlock stood up and smiled.

"Where did you pull that out of? John's …" Sherlock cut her off with a wave of his hand as John stiffened in anger. Sherlock moved away from John, tapping his hand to signal that he was alright.

"Nobody is born with pink hair so she has to have a natural color underneath. Pink of this color shows up best in blonde hair. She may have had it dyed blonde beforehand, but based on the damage being only in the dyed area, the small percentage of blonde roots is her natural color. As to her age, the worry lines suggest stress because the rest of her feature screams younger than thirty. Who is underage and stressed to this point, an outcast college student, remind me of that later." Sherlock paused. As if he needed reminding. He knew _they_ would.

"Remind you of what?" Sally asked.

"Outcast college student, now, too much work, not enough play. Normally stops after first year of prerequisites. Normally that comes back around last year of school, first year of work. To the fiancé, she has an engagement ring on her right ring finger and her high school ring on her wedding finger. She is still young and clinging to her childhood, so she is struggling with the decision. "Sherlock nodded and looked back at the body.

"You are brilliant." John muttered.

"Or he is a loon with a lot of lucky guesses." Sally said.

"Guesses lead to conclusions. I guess that if we put these shoes with this shirt then they will sell to the middle age female in London with exuberance." Sherlock grinned, gesturing to Sally's outfit.

"Shut it, Psycho." She snarled.

"Not a psycho, socio." Sherlock grinned then turned to Lestrade, "Must she be here?" He asked.

"Yes, she must. Please continue, and Donovan, shut it. How do you know she fought?" Lestrade unfolded one arm, gestured for him to continue.

"Her finger nails." Sherlock said.

"They look normal to me." John said.

"If you look close, she has six layers of polish on that are seeable. Different colors. She probably paints them daily, since her nails weren't dry when she was attacked, the paint curled back. As she fought." Sherlock pointed.

"Alright, that means DNA." Lestrade said.

"No. Her nails were long before and are now raggedly cut, not broken off." Sherlock rubbed his eyes and inhaled sharply, "The murderer saw that she was not going to stop fighting for life long enough to bleed out, so he strangled her. Look into missing girls at colleges in the area." Sherlock nodded.

"Wait, you told us to remind you that she was an outcast." Sally said. He smiled, knowing he had peaked her interest.

"Outcast, yes. This gives us evidence of her major." Sherlock started.

"How do you even know she was an outcast?" Sally asked.

"Don't interrupt! You're getting as bad as Anderson. She was definitely an outcast. Her hair color looked cool to some people but it is not natural so either she thought she was gorgeous and it didn't matter what she looked like, or others looked down on her and she didn't care what she looked like. Latter since her nails also are always vibrant colors that do not match her outfits. That was not the point I was trying to make." He shook with anger and mental exhaustion.

"Come on, Sher. You need to hurry so you can eat." John muttered.

"Yeah, Sher, hurry up." Sally chuckled. John stepped towards her and Sherlock's hand shot up and clotheslined him across the chest. Sherlock gave John a look and John stepped back.

"Her major is one that doesn't have very many followers so less likely to make friends. She also may be hesitant to make friends in her major because most people in her major are weird or messed up like she is. Automatically this means two things. Law enforcement or psychology, and guessing by her lack of athleticism, psychology. Check and see if a Blonde, Psychology major with dyed pink hair in her late teens early twenties with only the first semester of prerequisites. I will be at home if you need anything." Sherlock waved his phone, indicating they should text, then turned and walked away. John ran to catch up with the quickly retreating Sherlock.

"Sherlock, why do you let them treat you like that?" John asked.

"Like what? Like I'm a freak? I let them treat me like that because I know humans are scared by things they do not understand. Donovan does not understand how, even though I am a sociopath, that I have such a close friend. Therefore, she tries to run you off by offending you. Anderson doesn't understand how I can work so little and do everything so much better than he can. Lestrade just needs my help and is scared by the fact that he doesn't want to understand. All this is nothing to me." Sherlock inhaled sharply again, "Take me home."

John hailed a cab and Sherlock slept the whole way to 221B then walked up the stairs and fell back asleep. The anxiety that something dreadful was going to happen had drained him. John had pulled his mattress into Sherlock's room so he wouldn't have to sleep on the floor. He lay there and quietly contemplated Sherlock. They had gone to see a physician about Sherlock's condition and the news wasn't too bad. He was hurt but healing well, in all ways except of the mind. He was unstable and the physician recommended a psychiatrist. John had been taking him weekly without anyone else knowing.

John knew he should tell Mycroft about the psychiatrist but Sherlock had made him promise not to. Mycroft would worry, then tell their mother, then she would call and worry making Sherlock worry. This was a great unhappy wheel that Sherlock did not want to turn. Sherlock flipped over and his hand gently searched the edge of John's neighboring bed. John took Sherlock's hand and Sherlock stilled, lightly snoring.

What was John supposed to make of this? Was it because John had been the one who saved Sherlock? No, Sherlock had saved himself. Was this because John had taken care of him during this time of stress? John shook his head and slowly drifted. His thoughts started to just swirl without meaning, letting ideas leak into the place his mind had wandered to. Maybe Sherlock needed John. From the start Sherlock had been strangely clingy to the fact John was there. Maybe the separation Sherlock went through was being manifested in this new form of clinginess.

"That makes no sense." John whispered aloud. The best, most logical explanation was that when Sherlock was captured, John had been so close. Sherlock associated separation from John with bad things. A matter of bad circumstances. That was it. John concluded, that was it.

* * *

><p>Sherlock stirred and opened his eyes to see John sleeping on the bed beside his own. John snored slightly. The first few nights John had stayed in the room things had seemed to be getting better. After the incident with the shower, Sherlock had realized he couldn't go anywhere without John. Couldn't do anything without John. He could probably, loosely diagnose a minor agoraphobia. He feared he would have a meltdown in a public area and John would not be there to help him. He would be vulnerable and his soldier would not be there to fight off the bad emotions and people. Maybe this was more like being paranoid.<p>

John stirred and lifted their intertwined fingers to look at his watch. He moaned and rubbed his eyes with his free hand.

"What's wrong, John?" Sherlock mumbled.

"I have to go to Harry's today and make sure she is alright." John huffed.

"Must you?" Sherlock whined.

"I must. She is so reckless that one time I skip out and she'll blow half her block up." John sighed again.

"I'm coming with you." Sherlock jumped up so he was standing on his bed then walked onto John's bed, across John's chest, and to his closet to dress. John was shocked at how little Sherlock weighed as he walked across him.

"Harry hates you, Sher." John said, loudly.

"I know that. I'm not dumb, just dependent. What's the worst that could happen?" Sherlock grinned over his shoulder then glanced out the window, "Going to be cold today."

"Everything can go wrong! She'll either kick us out, or ban us from coming back, or she'll just kill us on the spot." John sat up on the bed, his blanket falling to the floor.

"Well, if you don't want to skip out then I am coming with you." Sherlock muttered to the closet. John sighed and flopped back onto the bed.

**Thank you to everyone for the reviews. I know I am awful at keeping up withmy stories. I am trying my hardest. Thanks for still readin if you have made it this far.**

**Thanks to drjamband, FleStanhope, power0girl, andMclennarrson-1964 for your reviews of chapters 8 and 9! Loved them! **


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